


Dragons plant no trees

by iia_ao3ac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU from S8E4 onwards, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Daenerys leaves, F/M, and yeah there ain't no Daario. Story is completed and still no Daario, minor Jon/Val mentioned, negative comments about Dany will be deleted here, other ASOIAF characters mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iia_ao3ac/pseuds/iia_ao3ac
Summary: An AU starting season 8 episode 4. Daenerys leaves Westeros.I was going to post it as a one shot, but it was too long, and so I split it into two parts.First part is Daenerys POV. Second part Tyrion POV +Jon Snow/Ghost.Ironically, nobody actually dies in this story. Except an original character, and Euron. And of course, those that died before the story started.





	1. Daenerys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ReganX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReganX/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Forewarned](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18875461) by [ReganX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReganX/pseuds/ReganX). 

> I would like to thank wholeheartedly my two amazing betas (yes, apparently I need not one, but two): Priestess_of_Groove, and MeeMaw. They are both much better writers than me, and they helped me write a much much better story. 
> 
> This story is inspired by the story Forewarned by ReganX, which explores what happens if Daenerys doesn't come to Westeros at all.

The days stretched unbearably, cold and miserable.

She had reluctantly accepted Sansa’s suggestion to stay at Winterfell a while longer. Dany wondered once again why Sansa had proposed they stay- to rest, Lady Sansa had said. It was true her warriors, as well as everybody else, needed rest before heading south. But it had also been quite clear the Lady of Winterfell did not want her nor any of her people in the North, especially since the war against the dead was won now. Her sister Arya as well never looked on any of them with anything but distrust.

Even at the feast to celebrate the survival of the living and the defeat of the Night King, none of her Dothraki or Unsullied had been invited. That had hurt, for the slight. She was alone among the Northern party, except for Tyrion, who was happy to leave her to spend the time with his brother, and Varys, who as always observed from the shadows.

Even Jon, apart from a hesitant smile, had left her to celebrate their hard won victory and mourn the dead alone, her hosts not sparing even a word of comfort for all those she lost defending Winterfell. 

Had she ever felt so alone at a feast? Perhaps when she married Drogo. But she had met Jorah then. Her bear, who had died protecting her. So many dead! She should have stayed with her people, the Dothraki and the Unsullied, and they should have drunk to their victorious dead together. Her people had won that victory as much as Arya Stark. And yet none of them were even deemed fit to share a cup of ale with to celebrate their common victory, the victory that they had paid for more than anybody else.

At least this way Missandei had stayed with Grey Worm and the Unsullied, and hadn’t had to suffer the rejection on the faces of their Northern hosts. Lady Sansa had looked with nothing but disdain at her friend from the start, and it seemed that her displeasure had even grown lately. 

She knew that to the Northerners her people were nothing but savages and eunuchs, worse than the lowest of lowborns. Scum. She had expected them not to be liked overmuch in the North, where the sins of her father loomed large over her. But the way they were skirted, always eager to put a distance as if she and her people were afflicted by the pale mare, hurt nonetheless. Nobody would even talk to her voluntarily, nor to her people, let alone offer a hand, or a hug.

Without her people, who had paid the greatest price for the victory, the living would have lost. And yet neither the surviving Unsullied commanders, nor any of her Dothraki _ko_s had been asked to the feast. She had not insisted on bringing at least some of her bloodriders with her, as a show of faith and trust to her hosts after their shared battle. Friends, they said, were made on the battlefield when fighting together. But not for her, not here.

And Jon. Jon too had held his distance. Since the truth of his birth father had come to light, Jon had avoided her, and never stayed in a room if it was looking like he might end up alone with her. The same way he had done before the battle, when his swift exits had left her baffled. She had thought then that the distance he kept was as to not make the Northern Lords suspicious. It had hurt then, but it hurt more now that she knew why he was doing it.

That night after the feast, she had swallowed her pride and had gone to his room. That was the night everything started falling down. Everything she had fought for, so long and with so many losses, was getting away from her. She had been so lost, so alone, so rejected, she hadn’t known what to say, what to do. And what she said had come out so wrong. She had longed for a human touch, to be able to talk to Jon, but he had rejected her too. He had kissed her, he had, and then he had rejected her. He had put a distance, once more, between them. Why had he kissed her?

She had been prepared for the worst when she went to his room. She knew most people scorned the Targaryens for their ways. But it was the way of her family, to keep the dragon blood. Her parents were brother and sister. She herself had believed for years that she would marry her brother, until Viserys sold her to Drogo. But she didn’t know what Jon thought of their blood relation. Yet, she was not his sister, and the North had married in the family as well.

And so she had summoned her courage, and asked him, if he could accept their love. She had been so afraid of the answer, because Jon had avoided her even when she had needed him so much. She and her remaining sons had had to burn what had remained of Viserion, a pitiful torn husk of what had been her cream and golden son. She had hoped that Jon would have come, to share hers and her sons’ grief, now that he knew Rhaegal, but he had been absent. They had done it, and she had had to shed her tears alone. It was better that way, nobody could truly share her grief anyway. Even Missandei had not known Viserion as a hatchling. Only Ser Jorah had remembered her sweetest child from when he was born, and her knight was gone too.

But she needed to know. It was better not to hope falsely when hope was truly gone. The longer hope remained, the harder it would be when it was finally extinguished. And so she asked him. It took all her courage. He didn’t answer, but he kissed her. He kissed her as if he loved her and would never let her go. And then he stopped. Oh, how the rejection had hurt. Why did he kiss her like that? It would have hurt far less if he had just told her he couldn’t love her anymore, now that he knew.

Why did he give her false hope and then push her away? And then she had reacted so badly. Her thoughts had been in such a storm, all that she had wanted to say was swallowed in fear and pain. She had realized afterwards that Jon was feeling lost too, and she should have tried to explain better, to talk to him more. Jon didn’t know what it meant to be a Targaryen hunted all her life for being born that way. Claims to power were a dangerous thing, and had always been used against her, always threatened her life.

And so she begged. “They are my family. And you are my Queen.” Yet another blow. It had hurt even more in its unfairness- he was rejecting her love because of their shared blood, and yet she did not even merit inclusion in his family.

The first few nights after, she had stayed at Winterfell hoping that Jon would find her. She couldn’t bring herself to try and find him again. Her heart constricted painfully at the thought of yet another open rejection. She knew what begging was. What it did. How fast it ate at one’s soul.

She would have tried talking to him, but he avoided her. She could order him, because it seemed he was determined to honor his pledge to her as his Queen, but can one order love? Or even familial affection? She was still the last Targaryen now, even though she had a nephew. Even Rhaegal, he had left alone. It was as if he wanted to forget what his blood was, who he was. They may have been his blood, but they weren’t a part of his family.

And so she kept to herself, spending her time with the Dothraki or with the Unsullied, outside the walls of Winterfell. And with Missandei. Missandei was the balm to her soul, the only warmth that remained to her in this frozen land. She had hoped to find sisters in Sansa and Arya, the sisters she never had but always wished for. That hope was gone now. But Missandei was her sister by choice, if not by law or blood, the sister that understood her, and believed in her, the sister she didn’t have to hide from. The sister that loved her.

It was Missandei who told her, concerned, that she had seen Tyrion and Sansa talking to each other a few times already. Missandei had recalled to her the conversation between them in the crypts, and how angry she had been at both—at Lady Sansa for disparaging her while Daenerys fought outside on Drogon for the Lady’s home; and at Tyrion for not saying a word to defend her.

This was fast, she had thought to herself. But no, that was impossible. Perhaps she was being too distrustful. But she couldn’t help but observe Tyrion more closely. She trusted Tyrion, though his advice had not been successful so far. But the signs were there- he seemed distracted, and often stayed at Winterfell with Varys, to “discuss strategies”, he said.

And then the day came when it all came to a head. Her Dothraki handmaiden Rhimi had become violently ill, and had died soon after. Dany had been feeling queasy lately, and so she hadn’t eaten the dish of stew that Winterfell had sent, but instead told Rhimi to have it. The poor girl had died in agony soon afterwards, retching and trying to take a breath. And Dany knew that it was poison. Poison meant for her. But it was Rhimi who had suffered it, Rhimi who had died.

Her bloodriders had seen nothing suspicious in the little girl servant that brought the meal, but they hadn’t really looked too carefully at her. A small pale girl, they had said, with dark hair and dark eyes. A Northerner. Nothing suspicious. The Dorthaki didn’t have any experience with poison. They resolved their quarrels and disputes in the open, like everything else they did. If they wanted to kill somebody, they killed them looking them in the face. 

Dany remembered back to her time in Vaes Dothrak, when the wine merchant had tried to poison her. It was Ser Jorah that saved her then, he was the only one who suspected something amiss. And it was only because he knew that Varys had sent assassins on the orders of King Robert, the Usurper.

Varys. Could it be him and one of his little birds? But why would he do it? Dany didn’t even know if it was the girl servant that brought the food who had poisoned it, or perhaps a kitchen maid. Though this scared her—it was only because of her feeling sick that she didn’t eat from the dish. It had seemed too heavy to her, the smells overwhelming her. What if the next time she ate it? Or what if Missandei ate it instead? Would she have to watch her truest friend choke and retch and die like Rhimi?

Maybe it was Cersei that had sent an assassin. Or even the Kingslayer could have bribed someone. She suddenly felt very cold and very small. She was back in her childhood, a small girl running with her brother, not knowing where the next blow would come from.

Even in Meereen, where she had been hated by many, she had been loved by more. Not here. Here she felt alone and unwanted. She felt as if the shadows were closing in on her, despite the victory of the dawn. And there was no light to expel them. She wanted with anything in her for this to not have happened. Not any of this.

But she couldn’t let it alone. There was only one person she could ask, and it was Varys. She would have to talk to him, see what he has to say. He would know anyway what had transpired, no point of hiding it. Perhaps he and Tyrion could devise a plan to counteract the assassin. If, of course, it was not Varys who had sent it.

But what can one do against a hidden poisoner? She knew kings and people of power often had servants taste their food. Was she to do that all her life? And if the poisoner persisted, would she have to watch another person loyal to her die of poison?

Why was this happening now? And not earlier? Cersei wouldn’t have waited till now, she would have struck the moment the War for the Dawn was won. She had decided to stay North for a while, so that her army and her dragons could rest and recover from their wounds, in the last possible moment. Cersei wouldn’t have known that she would linger.

There was another, darker thought trying to push itself to the fore. She knew her family history. A Targaryen pitted against a Targaryen. Blood against blood. The Dance of Dragons that had decimated her family had started because the Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, decided that Aegon’s claim was above Rhaenyra’s and was willing to kill dishonorably for it. They said Prince Aegon only reluctantly accepted the crown because his mother, brothers, sister and children would otherwise be killed by Rhaenyra. Because they had been afraid of her. And so they pitted them against each other.

Who had been right? Who had been wrong? It did not matter in the end, as both Rhaenyra and Aegon had died, taking most of the dragons with them. Fire and Blood. Her House words had been turned against their own.

But no, this would never happen again. There were only two of them now. She would not allow it. With anything she had she would not allow a dragon to be pitted against a dragon ever again. She pushed even the thought away from her mind.

She had summoned Varys and Tyrion to her tent that afternoon, instead of going to Winterfell herself. She had briefly told them what happened and had asked who would have tried poisoning her.

“I would not jump to conclusions, your Grace”, Tyrion had said. “Maybe it was that the maid had suffered some sickness, or ate something else, and it was just a coincidence that this happened after she ate your food. We all ate the stew, and none of us was harmed.”

Varys looked at her strangely. “We could arrange for you to have food tasters, your Grace. Your father, King Aerys, used several of them. He was so afraid that someone would poison him, or his children, that he ordered your mother’s breasts to be tasted before she fed your brother.”

She didn’t know what exactly she had expected. But not this. She was not mad. She was not her father. And yet, she would never escape his shadow here. Even Tyrion and Varys looked at her with suspicion. As if she had imagined it. As if she was mad like her father.

“Thank you, my Lords. I will think on it.”

__________________

It was the next day that she received in her tent a very tired man, travel worn and spattered with dirt, whom Grey Worm reported was from the Iron Islands, personally sent by Queen Yara. He had insisted that he had a message for Queen Daenerys that he was to put only in her hands, nobody else.

Missandei offered him refreshment, but he refused it. He took a look at her and handed her a small message, rolled up as if it had been delivered by a raven.

"_Daenerys Targaryen is not the only Targaryen left. Prince Rhaegar’s son lives still. As the son of the firstborn son of the Last Targaryen King, he is the true heir to the Iron Throne, not Daenerys Targaryen. I can attest to the authenticity of this information._

_Varys, Master of Whisperers.”_

________________________________

“Why did you do it, Lord Varys?” she asked.

“Once the truth was known, Jon Snow would be protected from you. He has the true claim, and so he is a danger to you. If the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms knew of his claim, then the truth would be a shield to him, as you wouldn’t dare kill him. Nobody would accept you if you kill your own kin for the throne.”

“Is that what you think of me, my Lord Varys? That I would kill Jon Snow? My brother Rhaegar’s son?”

“Your father was a charming man once too, your Grace. Loyal to his friends. Until he started to love burning people too much. “

“Get out! Before I enjoy burning you!”

They left. And she wondered why didn’t Tyrion say anything. He had chosen his side, it seemed. Perhaps he always had. She cast her mind back. To all his advice. To take Casterly Rock. To capture a wight. To trust Cersei. It seemed despite what he had said about believing in her, it was himself and his family, the Lannisters, he cared and believed in most. Not her, and not her plans to break the wheel. After all, the Lannisters were a spoke on it. The spoke on top right now. They had everything to loose. It was understandable. He had his brother and he loved him. But it hurt nonetheless. One more drop of hurt. When would her glass be full?

_________________________________

She wanted to cry then. She was finally set to take what was hers, what she had fought for so long, thinking it her duty to take the throne back. The last Targaryen. She wanted her family name to be remembered for greatness. And instead, it was the madness that the Targaryens would be remembered for. The Mad King and his mad daughter.

No matter what she did now, it seemed it wouldn’t change what the people thought of her.

She had saved Jon Snow’s life, even when she did know of his claim. Ser Jorah had died to protect her from the wights when she had lingered too long after. She had given everything of hers to help fight the War of the Dawn. She had risked her children, she had even lost a child to save Jon Snow. And still, she would always be distrusted. People would always think her a monster. As her children.

Not everybody, but enough people, so that she would have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her life. Like the girl she once was, running from the assassins of the Usurper. Never knowing where the blow will come from next.

And in many eyes she would always be the Mad Queen--- so afraid of her own shadow that she wanted to burn the world.

She remembered her brother Viserys. Would she be doomed to become like him? He had been the kind older brother who took care of her once. Before the years of begging and mockery had turned him bitter and angry and cruel. 

She had her sons still. The dragons made all the difference.

She could take the throne with them, crush all opposition.

And then what? If the people here didn’t want her, how many would she have to crush? The more she crushed under her foot, the more yet would follow. Until she was indeed the Mad Queen of the Ashes.

No, that was not it. That was not it.

But she had her sons still.

That night she spent flying on the back of Drogon, with Rhaegal flying by their side. One last look.

_______________________

“Daenerys, I am truly sorry. I didn’t want this to happen. Sansa swore to me. I am so sorry.”

What could she say? She had hoped that it was not him. That it was his brother- cousin. Or his friend, who was grieving for his father and brother that she had executed. Who was angry at her. It couldn’t be Jon, she had told herself, that couldn’t be happening.

But no, it was really true. She had begged him not to tell. And she had told him that Sansa wouldn’t keep such a secret. She hadn’t wanted to say outloud that revealing such a secret would mean putting her life on the line. She knew he already thought that she was being unreasonable, unfair. That this secret was only his to tell. That his family would honor his wishes.

She had seen that if she pleaded more, tried to explain more, she would only have been demeaning herself further. Maybe she should have. Maybe he would have understood then. Rhimi was dead because of her too. What was her pride against Rhimi’s life? 

“I am sorry for my part in it. I knew what this truth meant to you, that it is your truth to tell. But I was afraid. I should have talked to you, explained. But what is done is done. We can only decide now what to do with what is in front of us.”

“I don’t want the throne. I never wanted to be King.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Even if you tell your sisters that you don’t want to rule, they will think that it is honor that keeps you from it. That I have forced you to say that. That I am the one standing in your path and that you are only doing it to keep your pledge to me. Even if your sisters accept your wishes, though I doubt it, others will not. It is too late for that now.“

Jon said nothing. He looked sad, dejected even. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that she loved him, still. That even his betrayal didn’t change that.

But he didn’t want her now. Things were never going to be the same.

She had to accept that. If he had loved her as she loved him, perhaps they could have married. She had thought, before, that perhaps she could propose it. But she didn’t want to marry _Jon_ for a political alliance. Not Jon. She didn’t want to only be _the Queen_ in her marriage with him. She wanted to be Dany too.

Even now she thought that if she proposed marriage, Jon may have agreed. To unify the claims. To keep his vow. But he would have done so out of obligation. For his pledge of loyalty. And perhaps even out of pity. There was nothing worse than pity. A pity for a beggar.

And so she said nothing too. What was there to say? And she turned and left.

_If I look back, I am lost. _

__________________________________

Dany had summoned the Lady Sansa and Arya, Jon, as well as Tyrion and Varys, Samwell Tarly on behalf of Brandon Stark, and the ironborn who brought her the message from Yara. She met them in a large tent the Dothraki had specially erected a little way from theirs and the Unsullied camps. Outside the walls of Winterfell. A neutral ground.

When they assembled, Jon looked questioningly around, but did not ask. She hadn’t seen him the last couple of days at all. He looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. As she hadn’t.

“I have asked you all here to inform you of my intentions.”

“I am leaving Westeros. I will take my people and we will return to Essos, from whence we came. Westeros is yours to do as you see fit. “

The silence was absolute. For a moment.

“You will not fight Jon for the throne?” –this was Arya.

“No. Jon is my brother’s son. “

“I don’t want the throne. I never wanted it. It should be yours. “

“Jon! You have a duty! You can’t just renounce your claim. “

“Sansa, ..”

“The Kingdoms need you, Jon, they need an honorable man to rule for once!”

“I bent the knee, Sansa! Accept it. The throne is hers!”

“You didn’t know who you are then! You were duped! It should not stand!

“I pledged my honor to Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I will not forsake my vow.”

Dany wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Pledges and vows. Honor. Is that all she meant to him? _They will see you for what you are_…

“King in the North, Jon Snow. I free you from your pledge to me. You are released from your vow. I am no longer your Queen”.

Another moment of silence reigned.

It was Sansa who broke it.

“Without your armies we cannot fight Cersei Lannister to take the throne that she usurped.”

“What would you like of me, my lady? To lead my army, my people, to take the throne for someone else? While your people call them savages and eunuchs, and me a foreign whore? Let your king take his throne with his own effort.”

“You owe him your allegiance! He is the heir of House Targaryen!”

“Sansa!”

“It is true, Jon! She must bow to _you_, her armies should be yours!

“Do I? My people can speak for themselves, they are not slaves.”

Missandei spoke then, with Grey Worm beside her:

“We follow Queen Daenerys. We _chose_ her. She is not our Queen because her father was a King, but because she earned it. We are _free_. The Unsullied are going back to Essos.”

Her bloodrider Nako spoke too:

“You should thank Dothraki we go back to the Grass Sea. We don’t like ungrateful. You live because of Khaleesi of the Dothraki. “

It was good that she had warned him beforehand to restrain himself, because it could be bloodshed otherwise.

She spoke to the Ironborn, Theomore, then.

“I have a promise to your Queen to keep. Even though I have relinquished my claim to the Iron Throne, I keep my promises. Tell Queen Yara that, she will understand. “

The Ironborn nodded.

Dany addressed them all once more.

“My people and I will leave Winterfell in three days. “

When she was almost at the tent flap, she turned and said.

“Lord Varys, you can send your messages now. I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you wanted to serve the realm by revealing the truth of Jon’s parentage. But remember my promise. If you betray me, I will burn you alive. I cannot prove that Rhimi died by your poison. This time you live. But if you try again, I will collect on my promise. Dead or alive. Drogon will remember it for me. “

_____________________________________________

“Don’t leave!” It was Jon who caught up with her. Missandei, Grey Worm and Nako sped up, leaving them some space.

“Are you asking me to stay?” Would she stay if he was asking her, _Dany_, to stay? Or was it already too late?

“I… The crown should be yours, I don’t’ want it. You would be a great queen, the greatest Westeros has ever seen!”

“The only one Westeros has ever seen, you mean?” she tried to laugh to keep from crying. The _queen_. This was who she was to him. No. No longer even that.

“I can’t stay in Westeros. I am a threat to your claim, as you were to mine. There will always be people who would stop at nothing to push the one they want on the throne. As they did in the Dance of Dragons. They would try to kill me if they preferred you rule. And they would try to kill you if I suit them better. “

“And even worse, I will not allow us to be pitted against each other. We are the only Targaryens left, Jon Snow. I will not allow another Dance.“

“Even in Essos I would be a threat, but that at least is far. With your brother, the Three Eyed Raven, you will learn if someone is plotting against you. “

“But I don’t have that option. Rhimi already died because someone tried to poison me. How many would die before they get to me too? “

“At least in Essos my people love me. The Dothraki may love killing, but they don’t kill with poison. They look you in the face before they kill you. “

“And even in Meereen, there are more people who love me, than who hate me. There I am Mhysa, not the Mad King’s daughter.”

“I am so sorry the North has been so ungrateful. You saved us all.”

She could see the sadness in his eyes. It matched the sadness in her. Her heart felt like it would deafen her. She was saying goodbye to the man she loved. She was leaving and never coming back. And he was staying behind.

He had let her go already. There was nothing else for her but to let him go too.

But she didn’t want him to suffer. She would not cry in front of him. She was not enough in the end. Even if she saved them all. She was not enough for the people of Westeros. She was not enough for _him_.

“It is what it is. My brother Viserys once believed that the people of Westeros were waiting for our triumphant return. I knew even then that that was a delusion. It was never to be for him, nor for me.“

“But you, Jon Snow, Aegon Targaryen, I wish for the sake of our House that it comes true for you. “

“So, farewell, Jon Snow. May the Old Gods and the New keep you safe.”

_______________________________

They left in three days time. 

When they saw her armies form their lines, slowly the whole of Winterfell emptied in front of its doors. Northern Lords and knights of the Vale stood armed and armored around Lady Sansa. 

Varys as always stood to the side in the back. Next to him Tyrion stood with his brother, the Kingslayer.

Even most of the small folk that had come had brought the dragonglass weapons they had used against the army of the dead. They looked as always weary and distrustful. Archers manned the walls.

Jon stood to the front, but didn’t bear arms. The only one who didn’t.

Before they started the march back east, her armies arrayed once more in formation. Drogon and Rhaegal sprawled in front of them, their scales glittering in the meager sun. She climbed on Drogon for his height, so that all her people could see her.

But first she turned Drogon towards the Northerners. She could see the fear on their faces even from afar. The knights moved to surround Lady Sansa more closely, and she could see Arya grip her dagger. Some of the archers nocked and drew their arrows, but waited for the command to come. Only Jon did not move.

She could destroy them all with just Drogon. Their arrows wouldn’t be able to do anything if she maneuvered shielded by Drogon’s bulk. But they were Jon’s people. They did not deserve to die even if they couldn’t overcome their prejudice.

“You do not have to fear me. I did not come here to conquer the North. And I am true to my word. We are leaving, all of us. “

“Maybe one day you will remember that this Queen and her _foreign_ _savages_ fought and died to protect the people of the North and all the living. But it is not this day. “

Then she turned Drogon back to her people. Rhaegal stayed facing the Northerners, to guard her back.

She thanked her people for their sacrifice. For fighting the greatest battle one can ever fight. For winning it for all the living. They deserved to be going home.

Where was her home? Was there going to be a red door for her?

Perhaps not. Dragons plant no trees. But she had her sons, Drogon and Rhaegal. And her sister Missandei. Grey Worm. Nako. All her bloodriders and her Unsullied. That would be enough for her. It had to be.

Drogon lifted, Rhaegal after him. One more circle they made around Winterfell. And she looked down one more time. He was there, looking at her. Until she disappeared into the clouds.

______________________

One more battle. She didn’t take any of her ships, she went on Drogon. Rhaegal was left to protect her people while she finished her business in Westeros. She didn’t want to risk him, as he was still injured and had no rider. She could feel his sadness through their bond. It matched and intermingled with her own. After they left Jon, neither she nor her dragons wanted to separate from each other. They were the last dragons left. Jon had chosen to be a Stark.

But it was safer that way, to leave Rhaegal with Missandei and her people. And it was a swift victory with her on Drogon. Mindful of the scorpions she had flown in the dark of night. She could not see much, if at all, but Drogon could.

At the speed Drogon flew down they didn’t have a chance to see the black dragon before he unleashed his fire upon _Silence_. She knew from Yara about the infamous ship, and Drogon could understand through their bond which ship to target first. 

The ship almost exploded from the sheer heat of Drogon’s fire. They burned several more ships. She could see little more now in the light of the fires, but knew that Drogon chose the ships to burn for a reason, perhaps for the scorpions that they carried. His senses were better than hers in this, and she left the lead to him. The battle was done in less than an hour. It was up to Yara then to deal with the remaining Ironborn.

She had kept her promise. And now nothing kept her here.

She looked once more down upon the shores that she had dreamed of as a little girl. And then she flew away.


	2. Tyrion/Jon/Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion POV. Jon POV. Ghost POV.
> 
> This is mostly political chapter. This is how I imagine the end of ASOIAF politically.
> 
> The end is for us, Jonerys shippers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank again my two marvelous betas: MeeMaw and Priestess_of_Groove. They are both much better writers than me, and they helped me write a much much better story.

Tyrion

Everything had been going according to his plan. Until it didn’t. 

He had once almost lost hope that he would be able to keep his promise to Cersei, to keep her and Jaime’s child safe. To at least not act against her, to the best of his ability.

For a while he saw no path forward. They were anyway threading a narrow path for survival. They had to win against the army of the dead. Even that was a pretty slim chance. But for his own plans Daenerys should not have an easy victory. If she emerged from that war with her army at almost full strength, there was nothing to stop her taking the Red Keep and destroying Cersei.

He thought perhaps if Daenerys had won but with her forces substantially weakened, he could have used that to make a deal between her and Cersei. After all, Cersei sat on the throne, but she was not the Usurper. Their fight was not really personal to Daenerys yet. Perhaps he could have bargained to have Daenerys spare Cersei’s life and send her in exile, to Essos. In fact, he thought, Cersei would be the harder of the two to persuade. But he hoped Jaime would help her see sense. For their child. 

But when Jon had gone to Daenerys that night on the ship, things had irreversibly changed for Tyrion. A rage had taken over him then. So that was how it would be. He had helped her, advised her, cared for her, even believed in her. Tried to make her the best ruler Westeros would have ever had. With him as her Hand, as his father had been to her father. But better. And then she betrayed him. She traded his advice and his help for Jon Snow. She had traded _him_ for Jon Snow! Like her father the Mad King had betrayed his father. It seemed they were doomed to repeat the cycle.

And so his plans had changed that night.

But he had been successful in following through. Better than expected. He had to be subtle, but it turned out to be easier than he had thought. The Dothraki had reveled in being put at the front line. And Sansa too had played in his favor. Because she naturally would have preferred to put the foreign soldiers at the first lines, and spare the Northerners. It had been a very risky gamble, and they had almost lost, if not for Arya Stark.

But it worked doubly in his favor, beyond what he could have hoped. Daenerys had won, but the Northerners didn’t want to admit that without her dragons and her forces keeping the army of the dead at bay for as long as they had, Arya would not have been able to kill the Night King.

And so it was Arya Stark that was the sole victor, and Jon Snow who was the one who helped it, by daring to ride on a dragon. Daenerys’ dragon to be precise, which he rode alongside Drogon with Daenerys on top of him. He did pity her then. After the Battle of the Blackwater, he knew how ingratitude and rejection felt. Daenerys was still the foreign invader to the Northerners, not to say the harsher word. Just as he was the demon monkey.

But she had chosen her path. To her own ruin.

And so, Cersei and Daenerys were more even now. More than that, the North did not really want to help take the throne for a Targaryen. The wounds were still deep here, and Daenerys would always be Rhaegar’s sister, the rapist and murderer of their beloved Lyanna Stark. She would always be the daughter of the Mad King who burned their liege lord Rickard Stark and forced his heir Brandon to strangle himself as he watched his father burn alive.

No, the North would never take to Daenerys Targaryen. The Vale and most of the Riverlands would take their que from the North as well. The Reach was out of the fight too, thanks to his brother Jaime.

What irony! It seemed his own advice on advancing Daenerys’ conquest of Westeros had worked inadvertently rather well with his current plans of preventing her from doing so. Well, he could appreciate irony.

Not that the North, the Vale or the Riverlands would side with Cersei either. But Cersei already sat the throne. And they had no armies left to speak of. One step at a time.

Dorne was a problem. They were down, but not out. They still had the only fresh army in Westeros. They hadn’t played a part in the War of the Five Kings. And Dorne would never submit to a Lannister if they could help it.

Cersei had the Golden Company though, and she was stringing Euron for his fleet with her cunt.

But none of this mattered, because Daenerys had dragons. If she really decided to use them, and use them effectively, there was nothing anyone could do against her. The Kingdoms would be hers. Dorne was the only one who had withstood dragons before, but now they were the dragon’s ally.

His plan had hinged on convincing Daenerys not to use her dragons. For what it was worth, he had the help of Varys there. It seemed Varys, as always, was playing his own game. Nobody really knew what that game was, but it was clear now to Tyrion he was doing it for neither Cersei’s, nor Daenerys’ benefit.

He himself did not really trust the spider, tentative friends though that they were. But as of now they were allies in preventing Daenerys in using her dragons to further her goals. He would take it. One step at a time.

And then he had a truly unexpected stroke of luck. He learned of Jon’s parentage, from Sansa.

It was truly fate, he had thought then. That provided several possibilities, each one better than having Daenerys as a single strong ruler in possession of an overwhelming force. At the very least it meant that Jon could restrain Daenerys in using her dragons. Or he could even replace her as a ruler altogether. Jon was much more malleable, and he had shown already that he was willing to forgive even Jaime, despite his transgressions. Cersei and her child had a much better chance with Jon than with Daenerys.

Regardless which of those possibilities played out, it was clear to Tyrion that he would have to back Jon against Daenerys. Only pitting one against the other would he have any chance to succeed. He would have been lying to himself if he did not admit he would find a certain pleasure in it. And the truth of Jon’s parentage was a perfect tool to use.

It was also clear that the Lady Stark had her own motives and purposes in revealing the truth to him, and he doubted that she really cared about Jon ascending the throne. Maybe he wronged her, maybe she truly did it only for Jon’s benefit. But the Sansa he knew in Kings Landing was gone. This new Sansa had her own plans. Though those certainly did not include sparing the Lannister on the throne as her end goal. But then again, they clearly did not include Daenerys on the throne either. He would use that. One step at a time.

He would use what fate had given him. Clearly Sansa had wanted the secret out, known as wide as possible. Why tell him otherwise? But it was in his interests too. And so, he told that secret to Varys. The spider had smiled then, a true smile, a truly terrifying smile. And for the first time Tyrion was truly afraid of him.

Still, what transpired had worked better than his most optimistic dreams. Daenerys was not dead, but she was out. Perhaps she was to die later, perhaps not. But one way or the other, she was out of the Game of Thrones.

And now he sat in a corner of the Great Hall of Winterfell to see which path Jon’s fate would take.

The Northern Lords and some knights of the Vale had assembled once more on the invitation of Lady Sansa. Lord Edmure Tully also had sent a representative for the Riverlands. Tyrion knew most of the Lords, though not all, at least by reputation. 

Lady Sansa was the only Stark present. Her brother Bran spent his time in the Godswood, only rarely conversing with anybody, except perhaps with Samwell Tarly.

Arya had left with Daenerys’ forces, Tyrion suspected in order to make sure she really left Westeros.

Curiously, Jon also was not present at this meeting. He had rarely been seen at all after Daenerys left, and Varys told him Jon spent most of his time away from Winterfell, allegedly hunting with only his wolf to keep him company.

The meeting was opened by Lady Sansa.

“My lords and Ladies, thank you for coming to Winterfell.”

“I will not trifle with your attention and so I will come straight to the point. I have invited you here because an important truth has been revealed to us. As some of you already know, my brother Bran discovered that Jon Snow, who we always thought our brother, is in fact our cousin. He is the son of Lady Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“What is more, we have found that Prince Rhaegar Targaryen annulled his marriage to Elia Martell and married my aunt, Lady Lyanna. Prince Rhaegar did not kidnap my aunt, he loved her, and she loved him. Jon Snow is their son. His real name is Aegon Targaryen, and he is the heir to the Iron Throne.”

“On her dying bed my aunt Lyanna begged my father Lord Eddard Stark to protect him. My father claimed him as his bastard to shield him against the wrath of King Robert. My father was never unfaithful to my mother, he sacrificed his honor to protect his nephew. “

“Jon Snow is the true heir to the Iron Throne. Even Daenerys Targaryen recognized his claim. That is why she fled to Essos. She dishonorably refused to help her kin to take back the Iron Throne. A throne, on which sits, unlawfully, Cersei Lannister. “

“We have more honor than Daenerys Targaryen ever had. Will we leave Cersei Lannister on the throne upon which she has no right to sit? She is not even a Baratheon, her children were abominations born in incest. We all know her son Joffrey killed my father, Lord Stark, for finding out that truth.”

“Jon Snow was raised in the North, by my father, Lord Eddard Stark, as his own son. He has the North’s honor in him. If it was not for him leading us against the army of the dead we would all have been thralls to the Night King. Many of you saw him fight the army of the dead riding a dragon. He and my sister Arya saved us all. “

“He is not my father’s son, but he has his blood, the blood of the Starks. He is the true heir to the Iron Throne. The Kingdoms need an honorable man to rule for once. Will you fight to make it so?”

There were stunned silences through the beginning of the speech. Sansa had the Lords attention and respect. It was a very good speech, great even, he would give her that. And the end was met with rousing shouts of “Ayes”. But also interwoven in the buzz and clamor were questions like “Lady Lyanna was not kidnapped?”, “Who knew of that?”, “Rhaegar married her?” “Did he force her?”...

The buzz of conversations was as if one had released several wasp nests in the Great Hall. Tyrion wondered who will emerge as the leader of the wasps. It was soon answered.

An older Lady, very dignified, with her greying hair in a widow’s knot, but still quite handsome, stood up. She wore a large medallion, split in quarters, with what looked like a spiked crown between axes in two of the quarters, and a horse head in the others. The sigils of House Dustin and House Ryswelll. Lady Barbrey Dustin.

“Are you telling us, my Lady Stark, that your aunt Lyanna was not kidnapped, but went willingly?”

“That is so, Lady Dustin. She and Prince Rhaegar loved each other.”

“Ahh, they loved each other. How nice for them. So why didn’t they tell anybody that they loved each other? The North fought a bloody war because we thought Lyanna had been kidnapped. And now you tell us that this was a lie, and Lyanna left the North to bleed because of her girlish fancy?”

“You can’t speak about my aunt this way!”

“I will speak about her how I want, because it is the truth, if what you tell me is true. I lost my Lord husband Willam in that war. Your father didn’t even bring his bones back to me. How many others died? What about you, Lord Glover? Your brother died there too. How about you, Lord Royce?”

Lord Glover did not say anything, though it was clear he agreed with the Lady Dustin. But Lady Sansa looked pointedly at Lord Royce and he stood up reluctantly.

“It is true, I lost my brother Kyle, when he went South with Brandon Stark to ask for the return of Lady Lyanna and the punishment of Rhaegar. But it was the Mad King who killed him.”

Lady Dustin though did not relent:

“Brandon Stark would not have gone to threaten Rhaegar if not for his sister Lyanna. She absconded with Rhaegar, you now tell us. Why didn’t she tell her brother and father? Brandon’s death is on her conscience as much as it is at the hands of the Mad King.”

“You go too far, Lady Dustin!”

“Maybe so, Lady Stark. But I can tell you one thing: I do not intend to fight a war to put a Targaryen on the throne again. We already fought a war to remove them from there.”

There were scattered “aye”s among the hall then. Sansa had not anticipated this, it seemed.

“What about you, Lord Manderly? My father told me you have always been loyal to House Stark.”

“That is so, my Lady. I went south when Lord Eddard Stark called the banners. We all loved Lady Lyanna. We went to war in her honor. And to avenge Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon. But who the people really fought for was Lady Lyanna. And now you tell us that it was all a lie. I cannot in good conscience lead my people to another war. The hard truth is the North has too few men left to survive another war, let alone win it.”

Many Northerner’s were nodding their heads now. Lord Manderly was right, the North couldn’t field more than ten thousand soldiers at this time.

“What say you, Lord Royce, and the knights of the Vale? Will you not fight for what is right? “High as honor” are the words of House Arryn, Lords of the Vale. Will you not help put down Cersei, who has no shred of honor, and put an honorable man on the throne?”

“I cannot speak on behalf of my Lord in this matter. Lord Robert Arryn will have to make a decision on it. But you are asking us to put a Targaryen on the throne again. My Lord’s father, Jon Arryn, led the Rebellion against the Targaryens as much as King Robert did. I fought with him when we overthrew them. “We remember” are my House words.”

That was it. It was over then. Whether Sansa was willing to accept it or not, she had lost that battle.

Tyrion pitied Jon Snow. Despite everything, he had liked him once. It was better for him that he hadn’t been here to hear this. Even if Jon had known that the North would balk against having to fight for a Targaryen, as he was one now, it would have still hurt to hear it, especially the Lady Dustin’s bitterness against his mother.

And thus what was unthinkable even a few months back, now seemed inevitable. Cersei would keep her throne.

When Tyrion went back to his room, he found Varys there already.

“So, we are not to have a King Jon on the throne, then?”, he asked.

“It seems the days when the Targaryens ruled from the Iron Throne are gone”.

“Ahh, it seems you are betting on the Lannisters. Cersei is a formidable opponent, I will grant you that. But now you are wondering if she will keep her promise to you, that if you helped her against the dragon queen she will forget your little, ahh, disagreements?”

Tyrion was not really surprised that Varys had guessed his maneuverings. They had known each other for too long.

“I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind. I am hoping now that she knows I did not kill Joffrey, she may be willing to allow Jaime to interject for me. After all, she won’t have to see me. Jaime would go back to Kings Landing, and I would go to Casterly Rock. Far from the eyes, far from the heart.”

“Are you sure your brother Jaime would go back to Kings Landing?”

“Jaime has always loved Cersei. You must know that, you are the Master of Whispers. Now that Cersei is pregnant with his child, he will do anything in his power to protect them. That is why he came to the Gods-forsaken North to fight.”

“Ahh, love. Luckily, I am incapable of love, having no cock, as you kindly keep reminding me. Have you thought, my clever friend, on the reasons why love dies so often?”

“What are you saying, Lord Varys? Have you waded into poetry?”

“There is much one can learn even from poetry, my lord. But you have had some experience with this, is that not so?”

Tyrion cast his mind back to the three women that he had loved. Each one had betrayed him.

Tysha, who he had thought gave herself to him because she liked him. _Him_, even though he was a dwarf. Because he had saved her. But it had been the money that paid for her sweetness. He had loved her, and he had even married her. But in the end, she had turned out to be a whore, paid for by his brother Jaime.

Shae. He had loved her, whore that she was, and she had betrayed him. She had humiliated him with his most private moments. And then she had exchanged him for his father.

And then Daenerys. He had thought that he had learned his lesson. That he could separate the political and the personal. He had always known that he stood no chance with Daenerys, but that didn’t mean that he could watch her love another and be loved in return with equanimity. Daario had been just lust, and even that had smarted.

But he had also thought, that while she might never let him, Tyrion, the twisted dwarf, into her bed, Daenerys loved him in another way. As her friend, as her adviser, as her Hand. He had thought that she had believed in him, as he had believed in her.

A small hidden part of him was resentful to admit, that he had even thought there was a drop of a chance that she might marry him one day. After all, all the Lords Paramount, as well as their heirs, were dead, or married, except the halfwitted child Robyn Arryn. As Lord of Casterly Rock and Lord Paramount of the West, Tyrion would have the highest position in the land except for her.

But then Jon Snow had shown up. The King in the North. And much as Tyrion had liked Jon, and even admired him, he had resented him too. Jon was strong, able-bodied, brave. A hero. And he had risen on his own, despite him being a bastard. But being a bastard had also prevented him for being a good match for his Queen. And so, Tyrion had thought, their mutual attraction would be a passing whim. It would amount to nothing in the end. His Queen would rule in the South, and Jon would go back to the dreary North.

But then Daenerys had listened to Jon, when she did not even listen to _him_, Tyrion. That had hurt, but he had thought then that it was only an exception, because Daenerys had been angry at him at the moment. But it had happened again and again. She had even risked herself, and lost her dragon to save the King in the North, who hadn’t even bent the knee. Who had defied her. When _he_, Tyrion, had begged for her to stay, lest everything was lost.

He had tried to be his better self. To be magnanimous. But that night, the night Jon had gone to her cabin, and didn’t leave till the morning, he had been devastated. She had discarded him. And she had exchanged him for Jon Snow. 

Yes, betrayal was the bitterest reason loved died.

“Whatever it is you have to say, say it.”

Varys made a “tsk-tsk” noise. “So impatient. But you are right, indeed, time always matters.”

“You know, my clever friend, it is the passage of time that is of interest in this little tale as well. I wondered, how is it that your sweet sister was able to keep Euron Greyjoy to her side. Until his very unfortunate demise, that is, at the hands of our dragon queen”.

Tyrion snorted. “With her cunt. They say it is her best feature, next to her cheeks.”

“Ahh, that is true. But still, a man such as him, I have heard, would not have liked to see the woman that he, ahh, entertained relations with, be pregnant with another’s child. Even less her brother’s child. I may not know much about such things, but that is so, my lord, is it not?”

“What is it you are implying?”

“Well, it was interesting to me, that the sweet Queen Cersei is still not showing. After all, she must be pregnant five months now. And yet, she looks as willowy as ever, I am told.”

Tyrion’s heart sunk. It was not possible. And yet, how could it not be true? That was Cersei. She _would_ have manipulated him with his love for her children and with his guilt over Myrcella. In a heartbeat.

She had lied to him. He had believed her like a fool!

But what could she have gained with that lie? Surely she didn’t know if he would ever be able to do anything in her favor.

Oh, he was twice the fool! Even if she would have gained nothing, she wouldn’t have lost anything either. At the very least she sowed doubt and split loyalties. And it cost her nothing, but one lie.

And that meant he was a dead man walking. Only Daenerys was able to shield him from Cersei’s wrath. And she was now crossing the Narrow Sea back to Essos.

“Does my brother know?”

“Yes, I informed him this afternoon.”

“Out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Ah, you joke, my Lord Tyrion, but I do have a soft spot for you, and so for your brother.”

“But still, I admit, I had other motives too. You see, I don’t want him to go back and fight for Cersei. He is a good commander, after all. The Lannister army would follow him as they would follow no other. But now that he knows she lied about his child, he will never go back. You yourself have seen how he looks at the Lady Brienne. Or, Ser Brienne I should say. Now that the thought that he has to protect his child is not stopping him, what do you think he would do? We both know he is not the dishonorable fool that some think him.”

“So Jaime is leaving, then? Where would he go?”

“I suggested Essos. The Free Cities, Braavos would be suitable. Cersei’s wrath would not reach him there for quite some time. And it will be late for that soon enough.”

“So why are you doing then all that you are doing, my lord Spider?”

“Let me tell you another little story, my clever friend. Because, after all, stories are so important, are they not?“

“A tale that started with a babe swaddled in a crimson cloak, the cloth stained with his blood and brains. “

“Aegon Targaryen?”

“Ahh, there it is, the crux of the matter. “

“Not so. Because a spider had swapped the silver babe with another, a tanner’s son, whom the Spider had bought for a jug of Arbor gold. “

“Wha..”

Varys put his finger to his lips. “Be patient, my clever friend, let me finish my tale first.”

“And so the silver prince, King really, escaped the bloody fate your father had prepared for him, and was sent across the Narrow Sea, with a trusted friend of his father, the silver Prince Rhaegar, to look after him. “

“This Silver King has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. “

“King Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them. And he is grown now. It is time he took his throne. The Kingdoms are now ready for him.“

Tyrion had to absorb it all. So that was who Varys plotted for. What was in it for him? Why would he go to all this trouble for the son of a man he himself helped thwart?

Was the boy even the real Aegon? Would he ever learn the truth of it?

And then he realized it did not matter. As long as the realm believed it, it didn’t matter if it was all true, or a lie. Power is a shadow on the wall, Varys had said once, long ago.

“Cersei sits the throne. Does this Aegon have enough power to dislodge her from there?”

“Curious that you should ask. Do you remember that the Golden Company came to Westeros?”

“Don’t tell me. They are Aegon’s. “

“Quite so, my clever friend.”

Tyrion felt that Varys was mocking him. The Spider had played them all like a fiddle.

Once Cersei was out, and she would be soon, if not already, as the Golden Company was in her own Red Keep, it was but a small step to install Aegon on the throne. Who would, or could, stand against him? Dorne would embrace him, whether he was fake or not, because Aegon still would represent Dorne on the throne. They only had to marry their Princess Arianne to him, and everybody would view him as legitimate. If Dorne accepted him as the lost son of Elia, who would object?

The Reach and the Crownlands have always had Targaryen loyalties. And unlike Daenerys, Aegon had a cock. They would have no problem bowing to him. And they had their own interests to elevate with Aegon on the throne. The Riverlands too, would split, with most of the Lords siding with Aegon anyway. And the remaining ones had no soldiers to speak of, not enough to make more than a nuisance for the Golden Company. Whose officers were eager for lands and lordships for themselves.

The North and the Vale maybe would have tried to stand against him, but they had been the ones who took the brunt of the army of the dead more than any other Westerosi army. Not to mention the war of the Five Kings had decimated the North’s army even before the dead got to them. And the North would need food for the winter, lest they starve. They would need the Reach and their harvests. Even if they held for long, they would still never be a real threat against this Aegon.

Tyrion snorted. He remembered the letter Varys had sent to the Lords, ostensibly about Jon. Even that had been about Aegon.

And Varys had used that entire mummery to neutralize Daenerys. In a flash of recognition, Tyrion understood why the news of Jon’s parentage had made Varys so happy. Jon’s claim on its own could never stand. Jon himself was never a danger to Varys’ plans. Whichever way the winds blew, this boy Aegon would have benefitted. Even if the North had agreed to back Jon up, it would only have served to ultimately elevate Aegon.

Because who would believe that annulment in the South? It would either have had to have been agreed upon by both Rhaegar and Elia, or it would have had to have been adjudicated with a trial by the Faith.

But most of all, for any such annulment to be valid, it would have had to have been made public, the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms notified. And for a royal prince like Rhaegar, it had also needed certification by the High Septon. Which it never had. Nobody had even heard of any such annulment back then. Which was, ironically, why Jon had survived his half-siblings’ fate.

And Varys had known all that in the very instant when Tyrion had told him of the supposed annulment. Tyrion should have realized it himself.

At the most, Jon would have been seen as a grasping pretender once Aegon was produced. The silver-haired prince come back from exile. Jon would have only been seen as the new Blackfyre. And the whole South would have rallied against him. Because he was threat to their own interests, to the very foundation of inheritance in Westeros. Like the Blackfyres had been once. And because Jon was a Northerner, who even followed different and strange Gods.

The only thing Jon’s claim did in the end, was help neutralize Daenerys.

Varys had seen first hand that she would not fight against her own kin. And it was clear he had plenty of little birds in Essos too, if ever she decided otherwise. Tyrion did not think that her threat of dragon fire would deter Varys.

Tyrion realized that Varys’ initial plan in helping Daenerys overthrow Cersei would have been to use her forces to re-conquer Westeros and then marry her to Aegon.

But then Jon had stood in the way of that. Because Daenerys loved Jon, and love was stronger than politics for her. She showed it when she risked her own life to save the life of a King who would not bend the knee.

And so she would have chosen Jon, not Aegon. Thus decimating Aegon’s chances.

Varys had understood that well, and immediately. This was why Varys had been against the marriage of Jon and Daenerys. A unified Jon and Daenerys would have made Varys’ plans impossible.

But then Jon’s parentage had come to light. And Tyrion realized that it was the ultimate tool In Varys’ hands for splitting Jon and Daenerys. Even if they held strong, he would have found a way to pit them against each other. Especially with Jon’s sisters so determined against Daenerys. Jon’s claim didn’t not really matter against Aegon, but it could be used against Daenerys.

But Jon’s parentage had indeed put Jon and Daenerys at odds with each other. How long that would have lasted if they were left to deal with it between each other only, was anybody’s guess. If Tyrion were to guess, not for long. They had loved each other too much for that separation to last.

And so Varys had cleverly fanned the flames. Beat the metal while it is hot, they said. Whether Daenerys had died from that poison attempt on her life or not, it had succeeded in speeding the events. Before Jon could recover from the news and his crisis, Daenerys would have either died, or had left.

And then the path was clear for Varys’ plans.

Tyrion had thought that it was working out for him. But in the end, Varys had won. Because he had known things that Tyrion didn’t. And because he had planned better.

Tyrion could admire a good game. Even when he lost. He marveled at how long that plan had been in the making.

But what remained now was to decide what to do with his own life.

“So why are you telling me of all this now, my lord Varys? You have won, I congratulate you on that. A true Spider, you have snared us all in your web.”

“Why, my King Aegon has need of clever men. And we have always worked together rather well, my friend. “

\-----------------------------

They had departed Winterfell, but not before they heard that the Northern Lords, dissatisfied with the fact that Jon Snow was a Targaryen now, and seeing as his brother, well, cousin, Bran had returned--- a true Stark--- had unnamed Jon Snow as King in the North, and had raised Bran Stark instead. Though how long that would last Tyrion did not know. The North remembered only when it suited them.

It both surprised and amused Tyrion that the Northern Lords had chosen Bran, who was a cripple only interested in the past, and not his sister Sansa, who had ruled in all but name. After all she had done to get her crown, it was almost unfair that she didn’t, in the end, get it.

_______________________

On the 3rd day of the seventh month of year 303 AC, Kings Landing cheered and Westeros celebrated the crowning of King Aegon, the sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His Queen Arianne Martell beside him, a seductive beauty next to his dazzling one, her dark skin and hair contrasting against his fair complexion and silver locks. 

Unfortunately, Lord Jon Connington had died before he was able to see this auspicious day for which he had worked so hard. But that didn’t mar the proceedings. The procession from the almost fully rebuilt Sept of Baelor went slowly, because so many wanted to see and touch the Silver King—his father Rhaegar’s, the Silver Prince, true son. 

He took the steps to the Iron Throne and sat.

His small council arrayed below him on the steps of the Iron Throne was a curious mix of unexpected parties: Tyrion Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock was his Hand of the King. So beloved was the Silver King, that the people of Kings Landing were willing to forgive even this twisted demon monkey if their King had made him his Hand. Ser Rolly Duckfield was his Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The smallfolk celebrated him as one of their own. Lord Paxter Redwyne was the Master of Ships, a place deserved for bringing the Reach to the King’s side. Similarly, his Master of Laws, Edmure Tully, had ensured the loyalty of the Riverlands.

A very fat Magister from Pentos was his Master of Coin. And a little to the side stood Lord Varys, the Master of Whispers.

A glorious new era for the Kingdoms had begun.

_____________________

Jon

Shame. He was familiar with shame. Shame had marked his younger years, the shame of being the sole spot on the honor of Ned Stark. The man he had thought was his father. The man who was still his father.

But this was a different kind of shame. It tortured him. Shame of what he himself had done. Of what he had failed to do.

After Daenerys had left, and even before that, he had felt lost. Lost, because his whole life was a lie. Not that he was a bastard. That was still true in the eyes of most. But because he had always defined himself as the son of Lord Eddard Stark. Honor, the honor of Ned Stark, was what he held to. It was what had made him live his life the way he had.

But he was not the son of Ned Stark. He was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Who had run away with his mother Lyanna and brought the realm and his own family to a bloody ruin. He had been born because of their weakness.

And so he had been torn between what he thought was honor and what he thought was weakness. And it had almost paralyzed him.

But neither had been true. It had not been honor that made him reject Daenerys’ love. And his love for her had not been weakness. It was the other way around.

What they had done to her, what he had done to her, had not been honorable. He was ashamed now every time he remembered. And how could he forget?

When she left, he had felt even more lost. He had had a purpose before. After they defeated the army of the dead, the only thing that kept him going was his pledge to her. This was familiar. Honoring your vow. But then even that was taken from him. And he was left exposed. He was left himself. Not the King in the North, not even the Warden of the North who had a pledge to fulfill.

He had never wanted the Iron Throne, and he would never want it. And yet, he felt like a scheming Lannister every time his sister Sansa would raise the issue. Did she not understand that he didn’t want it? That it was never to be either way?

And so he stayed away from her and from Winterfell as much as he could. Winterfell, which didn’t feel his home. He felt even more an outsider now, when he knew who he was, than when Lady Catelyn’s cold eyes had swept over him as a boy.

Then Sansa’s scheming about him had finally come to a crushing fail. The Northern Lords had rightfully refused to go to war yet again. He had been relieved then.

And he had not been surprised that they had stripped him of the Winter crown. King in the North was an illusion. An illusion one clung to in the dark times when the Long Night was waxing, but one that did not survive the light of the Dawn.

His brother Bran was the Stark in Winterfell anyway, Jon was not even a Stark by name. Who was he?

And so he left for the Wall and beyond. The true North, as Tormund called it. Maybe that was where he belonged. He had known even then that this was not true, but there was nowhere else in Westeros that he belonged either.

He had thought to adopt the Free Folk’s way of life, despite his misgivings. Steal what you want if you can get away with it was not exactly what he wanted to live by. The honor, even if false, that Ned Stark had instilled in him as a boy run too deep for him to accept it.

But the dreams had tortured him. He would see Daenerys, Dany, every night he went to sleep. He could banish the thoughts of her during the day, but at night he was helpless against her. He was helpless against wanting her. He would dream of coupling with her every night, and he would wake up with his seed wet on his smallclothes. He had tried taking himself in hand, but it was the image of her naked body what made him spill himself.

And so, one night, he had gotten drunk and went to steal Val. She had not really resisted, and he was a man still, he would take his fill. And then at the height of his pleasure he had called _her_ name. _Dany_.

Val had reacted like a shadowcat. In the split of a moment she had taken her knife out of her discarded furs and it was only his luck that had helped him keep his balls attached. She had left and had left a scar on his thigh. One more scar he was ashamed of.

He had felt so ashamed then. Val did not deserve this. She was beautiful and strong. And he had been weak.

But perhaps that final drop of shame had been what made the cup overflow. He was who he was. No matter how he tried to escape it. He had to accept it.

He was a Targaryen, even if he was a Stark. He was a bastard. And he loved Daenerys.

And so, he left Westeros. He didn’t belong there anymore.

He had tried finding a ship that would take him to Meereen, where he knew Daenerys was Queen. But there were no ships sailing from East Watch to Meereen. He had found one going to Pentos instead, and remembered that this was where Daenerys had lived for a time as a young girl. And so he decided that he would sail to Pentos, and there find another ship to take him to Meereen.

Maybe it was too late. Maybe he had lost it all already. But there was nothing else for him anyway. Except hope.

________________________________

On the other side of the Narrow Sea, outside of Pentos.

Jon/Ghost

He was running, free at last, able to stretch his legs after the horrible time surrounded by the stench of human bodies on the rollicking ship they had sailed on for so long. They had arrived at the largest city he had ever smelt or seen. It had been so hot during the day, it had been almost unbearable to him, but the night had brought a cooler air. They had taken residence on the edge of the sprawling city, outside of its walls, but it had been full of the many-bodied stench nevertheless.

He had run for hours, eager to expend his cooped up energy and to escape that stench. He had eaten his fill with a goat and was almost turning back when he caught a familiar scent. Charred meat and heat and smoke. A strange and particular smell he had no name for. But a smell that he knew.

When he arrived at the place which was the source of the scent, he knew he had been right. A dragons’ nest. He knew the smell from Winterfell. Also, a woman’s scent. The dragons mother’s. She had been Jon’s mate once. And another, curious smell. A smell that reminded him of Jon.

He could now also smell, and even hear, the camp that lay a little way away from the dragons’ nest. Many horses. The horse lords.

As he sat on his haunches he heard them coming. The loud flap of their wings coming closer. He didn’t bother hiding, he knew that he stood no chance against them, and there was no snow to hide him here anyway.

The beasts did not spew their fire though. Instead they landed a little way away from him, one after the other, the ground shaking as they did.

He saw the dragons’ mother climb down carefully from the larger black beast, partly obstructed by his enormous wing. When she came fully down, she turned and he saw the bundle tied to her breast by two crossed wide bands of cloth. A tiny child. His dark hair almost shining reflecting the moonlight, stark against the silver hair of his mother.

“Ghost!”

Jon woke up, startled. Daenerys! What did he just see?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Those of you familiar with the books will recognize that Varys describing Aegon is actually a direct quote.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Those of you who follow my other, darker, revenge-type story, please know that I am finishing it quite soon. I discussed with CrimsonGuard that I will post the last chapter of it together with the restart of the time-travel. That changed a bit, I am sorry. But the time-travel will take a long time to get to happier Jonerys times. So it would not serve to take the brunt of the tragedy.
> 
> And so, I will post the last chapter of the Dragons do not forgive (a very dark chapter, especially for Jon's fans) in two-to-three days, together with the second chapter of this story. It is already written, and it finishes open-endedly, and so feels much happier. A bittersweet ending I would call it.


End file.
